A FirstForEverything
by WhoLockedGirl11
Summary: One-shots. John and Sherlock. (horrible summary :( )
1. Camping

"Explain to me, John, why I have to accompany you to this complete waste of time you call 'camping'?" Sherlock asked annoyed.

"Because Mary asked me to watch the children and I couldn't leave you alone at the flat," John answered although his voice was muffled by the equipment being pressed to his face.

"Why, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"Yes, but not the flat," John pointed out.

Sherlock huffed and pulled out his phone. _He's probably going to bother Lestrade for a case…_John smiled. Some things never change…

They were walking to a campsite a little bit out of town that Mary, John's current girlfriend who also happened to be the chief (or whatever they called them) of their town's boys and girl scouts, had arranged before falling ill. She'd phoned John earlier that week that the children had been looking forward to the activity and so the guilt trip continued ("Can you take them? Come on, you're a nice, kind guy and it would help me a lot if you could, yes? Yes, okay I'll send you the details."). The worst had been trying to convince Sherlock to come with him. The truth was, he was great with kids but he didn't want to be the _only_ adult in a mass of at least 15 loud and noisy children.

So here he was, trudging down a dirt road in the woods at 7am in the morning with an uncooperative detective beside him and 15 loud, excited kids tagging along, some whining and complaining. _Kill me now, on second thought, give me a nice cup of tea to drink and then kill me…ugh!_

To make matters worse, he was carrying the heavy camping equipment because _someone_ was too lazy to help him. He glanced at Sherlock who was a little ahead of him. But it was better with him here, at least, for now.

Once they reached the campsite at noon, they'd (Yes, Sherlock had helped this time) set up the tents and foldable tables and chairs (the kids had taken the chairs).

"Alright, everyone, boys on the left and girls on the right, form a line!"

"Okay, Mr. Watson!" the kids yelled in unison enthusiastically. Sherlock smirked.

"What?" _let the insults begin…_

"Nothing, the term 'Mr. Watson' gives the impression that you're old. And married." John's eyebrow twitched but he refocused on the children.

"Okay, Line 1 on my side and Line 2 on Sher – Mr. Holmes' side!" He grinned at Sherlock's accusing glare. A cough reminded him of his 'job'.

"Right, I'm sorry. What would you like in your sandwich, um, Leslie?" Each child had been given a card with their names on them to hang around their necks. It proved useful when trying to remember their names.

"Um…mustard and m-mayonnaise... Oh, uh, please?" the girl in front of him mumbled. He smiled warmly at her.

"There's no need to be nervous, I'm not going to bite. Here you go, Leslie." The girl beamed at him. _This man looks nice and kind, I think I can trust him…_

"Mr. Watson!" a little boy with hazel/green eyes and chestnut locks whined carrying his plate. John bent down and put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. Was he wearing a bowtie?

"Call me John, um, Matt."

"J-John, my sandwich!" It looked like a normal sandwich to him.

"What's wrong with it, Matt?" Tears were threatening to spill and John did not want to deal with a crying little boy. Not now.

"I-I only wanted mayo and M-Mr. Holmes put the same as Mark's." Glancing up, John could see the detective leaning precariously backward in his foldable chair, phone in hand. Every time a new kid stepped up in line, he would reach into a brown bag and take out the exact same sandwich as Matt's, put it on the plate, ignore the whispers or cries of dismay, and go back to scowling and texting. _So that's what he had been up all night doing…where did he learn to make a sandwich by himself?_ He could already hear Sherlock's reply ("John, let me remind you that I did manage to live on my own before you came.").

And he _still_ had his coat on. Even John had shed his cardigan when the air had gotten hotter. _Nope, he'll never take it off, too stubborn_… John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Why couldn't he just cooperate? A little, just a little…guess I'll just have to do it myself._

"Here Matt I'll fix it for you. Only mayo, you said?" The little boy nodded and John couldn't help seeing how innocent he looked with those big eyes. _I'll talk to him later_, he thought glancing at Sherlock as Matt left.

And so the day was filled with tag, treasure hunts and more camping games.

That evening while all the kids were having s'mores, he found the detective leaning against a tree a little away from camp, staring up into the starry sky.

John neared slowly, breaking a twig with his trainers. It didn't matter; Sherlock had known he was there from the start.

"Why?"

"Why what, John, you're going to have to be more specific, what have I done now?" Piercing blue/grey eyes met his. His face half shrouded in shadows.

"Why are you making things harder then they're supposed to be?"

"How, John, how am I making things 'harder'?" Sherlock asked exasperated, eyebrows knitting together.

"The least you could do is behave, that's all I'm asking," John said swaying his hands subconsciously.

"No it's not."

"You're right, it's not, but for right now it is," John said sternly. He sighed and glanced away before continuing.

"Please, just this once…..for me?" Sherlock straightened and stepped closer. Towering over John, he leaned down to his level.

"What makes you think I'm going to cooperate just because you want me to?" he said/whispered. John didn't break eye contact.

"I don't…just...hoping."

There was silence before eventually Sherlock sighed and John knew he had won, this time. He grinned and started walking away. He stopped when he noticed Sherlock wasn't following.

"Come on." The detective narrowed his eyes.

"Why?"

John rolled his eyes and beckoned with his hand. Together they walked back to the camp.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"John!"

Sherlock scowled slightly and John tried not to giggle.

The kids had huge smiles on their faces and John couldn't help but grin, too. Sherlock didn't but John hadn't really expected him to. The only sign was his eyes, his ever expressive eyes that softened a tad when he heard his surname.

"Who wants to hear a story?" John yelled with a laugh.

"We do, we do!"

The children gathered around the fire John had set up and sat on some logs topped with soft moss. John and Sherlock sat together on one of them, shadows gathering on their faces. Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable and John chuckled making him turn to him.

"What?"

"Nothing, just relax, mate."

"…."

"Okay then, my _friend_ Sherlock here will tell the story," John addressed the kids receiving confused stares. He pointed with his thumb at Sherlock, who was sending him an alarmed look.

"John!" came an exasperated whisper.

"What?"

"What am I supposed to say?" he looked so lost and confused John couldn't stand it. He sighed, the children were waiting.

"You're not 'supposed to' say anything. You say what you want to say now go on." He still looked confused but he straightened before clearing his throat. He glanced one more time at John before facing the kids. They looked completely engrossed in the detective. _Yes, he can do that simply by talking, that's Sherlock Holmes to you, _John thought with a smile.

"Hello….My name is Sherlock Holmes, _not_ Mr. Holmes, and I'm going to tell you a 'story' about a doctor and a detective…"


	2. Apology Letter

The door at 221b Baker St. opened and Sherlock strode in, John close behind. He hanged his cardigan and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. _Poor Molly..._He glanced at the detective, who was sprawled on the couch fingers over his mouth. _No way, you're not going in your mind-palace...thing now_. He cleared his throat and rummaged around the counter. _He really should clean up more..._

Clearing his throat again he earned a sigh.

"What?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

"Nothing...I-well... -" he scratched his neck. _Why was talking about feelings so hard? Oh right, because Sherlock supposely didn't have any._

"What did I do wrong now, John?" Sherlock asked from the couch, throwing up his hands.

"Nothing much, just...you know.."

"No, I don't know, that's why I'm asking," Sherlock said, exasperated.

"About...Molly...you should...oh i don't know...apologize?" John asked uncertainly, walking over to the living room and pickking up his "The Hobbit" First edition from the sofa.

"Apologize?" Sherlock asked, bewildered. He sighed. _Was this guy an idiot?_

"Yes, apologize. For what you said," John said sternly, putting his book back in the oak shelf he kept in the corner of the room. He opened the glass cabinet doors and put it next to his "Wuthering Heights" copy signed by his mother. _What? You can't blame him, he was a real sucker for Emily Bronte._

"But...why? No wait, don't answer that I'll figure it out myself." John rolled his eyes. _He'll never figure it out, oh well let him try..._

He eyed the coffee table and frowned.

"Sherlock, what have I told you about using my books for your experiments?" He asked angerly, pulling out his favorite copyof "Jane Eyre" from under a beaker.

"But, John, it was the presise width i needed to test how -"

"I don't care, Sherlock! It's something very important to me and i trusted you with not messing with it."

"But -" Sherlock insisted.

"No, see this is exactly what I'm talking about!" By now, both were nose to nose (not literally) in the middle of the room. John's neck had a large protuding vein that looked ready to burst.

"John, calm down."

"No! I won't calm down!" he shouted. After a few seconds, he sighed.

"Okay...Sherlock...look, about Molly...It's sentiment, everything she did today was pure sentiment. I can only wish she'd thought about what she was doing. She should've known...Just...apologize, okay?" he walked to the shelf and put away the dog-eared book still in his hand.

"Fine...how?" Sherlock said quietly.

"What?" John asked, confused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and strode to the coat-hanger taking off his long coat in the process.

"How do i 'apologize' to Molly? What's the...procedure?" he asked, rolling up his sleeves. John chuckled.

"What?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"Sherlock, there is no _procedure_, you just apologize, say you're sorry that's about it."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Unless..." he trailed off. Maybe he shouldn't tell him, it's much harder that way anyway.

"What?"

"Oh nothing, you could...let's say, write an apology letter, if you want." Sherlock's face split into a grin.

"Yes, that's much better!" he clapped his hands once and ran to his bedroom.

_I have a feeling I'm going to regret this_, John thought with a groan.

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**Hope you enjoyed! tell me what you think in A REVIEW! :) If you have any ideas, tell me in a review! If your bored out of your mind and want to do something random, write a review! :P Might not update till who-knows-when because of loss of internet :( R.I.P INTERNET! :P**


	3. Rain and chess

What am I doing here again? John thought, panting. Oh, right, a possible criminal was on the loose and Sherlock was feeling bored…..again.

"Ready?" the detective asked from beside him, not panting in the slightest. He mentally groaned. Are you serious? Out loud he said, "As ready as I'll ever be." And they were off again, Sherlock passing him easily with his long strides.

He caught sight of a silhouette behind an alley to their right.

"Sherlock!" he called, and veered toward it, Sherlock close behind. The shadow disappeared down another alley going left, but when Sherlock (he'd already passed him) got there he stopped and sighed.

"What is it?" he asked breathlessly, his hands going to his knees.

"Another spider…" Sherlock answered pulling out his phone.

John looked up and noticed the dead end and a window a good 40 feet up. He sighed. _Great._

"Now what?" he asked Sherlock on their way back, eyeing the threatening black clouds above with dismay.

"We wait; he's bound to kill another one. This was his second, based on the multiple signs of his obsession over the number three in his flat, he still needs one more," Sherlock answered without looking up from his phone, fingers flying over the keys.

"So… he's going to wait three days?" Sherlock hit send and regarded him before flashing his 'oh-good-you're-finally-catching-up' grin.

"Precisely." Sherlock answered and walked away.

John hurried to keep up, noting the way Sherlock slowed down slightly. He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

"But how do we know where he's going to… murder the next victim, is there a way to stop it from happening?"

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned to him, the irritated look in his eyes reminding him of a conversation they'd had not too long ago about Sherlock not being a hero or something. He didn't actually believe that; Sherlock had saved a lot of people before. Probably not intentionally but that didn't change the fact that he was a hero to those people and their families. And…he was a hero to him.

"If we intervene, that won't stop the murder from happening, but instead of his intended victim to die it would be either one of us," the way he said it made it sound as if by "either one of us" he meant John.

He widened his eyes; Sherlock actually looked _upset_…but…why now of all times? _Was it because of the possibility of me-_

All of a sudden, rain started pouring interrupting his train of thought. Light at first but then getting harder the longer they stood there. Sherlock looked unaffected but John felt shivers run down his spine. It was starting to get cold. No, not cold, freezing!

He rubbed his hands frantically and hurried to a porch a few feet away. It had a tiny roof meant to keep off the sun and he huddled there. That is until he noticed Sherlock was still standing in the middle of the rain.

John rolled his eyes and ran to him.

"What are you doing?" he yelled over the sound of the rain. Sherlock glanced at him before looking at the sky, indifferent.

"What does it look like I'm doing, John?" he asked remotely, as if a large weight of water wasn't hammering onto his back.

"Standing in the middle of the bloody rain? Yes, I can see that, but why are you doing it, hmmm?" he asked sarcastically, a tiny bit irritated.

"Because I want to, problem?" Sherlock asked. John resisted the urge to punch him in the face, knock him out, and drag him into the porch by his hair. Instead he let out a breath.

"Yes, there's a problem because I sure do not want to deal with a sick and uncooperative Sherlock Holmes whining at me for the next few days" he answered and yanked on the detective's sleeve toward the porch. He didn't protest, thank God but John could feel his deathly glare digging into his skull.

Together they leaned against the door away from the downpour, only to topple inside the apartment one on top of the other. John groaned and noticed his head was lying on Sherlock's chest. He could hear the sound of his heartbeat through his white buttoned shirt.

"Sorry," he apologized in a rush and hastily got up, turning toward the open door in an attempt to hide his red face from Sherlock. _Good thing no one had seen that, or else people would surely talk..._

He closed the door but not before noticing a 'FOR SALE' sign in faded block letters obscured from view behind a bush outside. He turned to Sherlock, who was coming down the stairs. He _probably inspected the whole flat while I was staring outside. God, he's as quiet as a cat._

"It's abandoned," they both said at the same time. Sherlock tilted his head to the side a little.

"You noticed, too?"

"No, I saw the FOR SALE sign outside." Sherlock slumped slightly in disappointment.

"Oh."

John beat on some towels he'd found and handed one to Sherlock, who scowled.

"Just put it on, it should do for now until the rain stops. You should take off your jacket." He glanced at Sherlock, who complied with a frown. They draped their coats on some chairs in the kitchen before walking back.

They stood in the middle of the dusty living room in silence.

"What now?" Sherlock asked, passing a finger down the leather sofa arm only to come up covered in a fine layer of dust. He grimaced while rubbing his fingers together and looked up at John expectantly, who scratched his neck and looked around.

He spotted a box of Chess behind the telly and pulled it out. It too was covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs. He blew on it and set it down on a coffee table with a carpet underneath before opening the lid.

Inside was a glass pane with the chess pattern on it in grey and white. The pieces were also made of glass; white would be the clear ones and black would be the greys.

By then Sherlock had subtly inched his way closer, so he was right in front of the coffee table. John looked up and caught the gleam in his eyes filled with contained excitement. Sherlock noticed and looked away, peeking down at the chess board every few seconds.

John smiled. _Way too stubborn…as always._

"Do you want to play Chess?" he asked already setting the game in the starting position.

Sherlock cleared his throat before replying, "Perhaps…"

"It's a yes or no question Sherlock," John said with a roll of his eyes. He was already seated in the carpet.

"Fine, but only because there's nothing else to do," Sherlock replied a little too quickly. _Liar_, John thought with a grin.

After three more hours of Chess, John wasn't grinning anymore. Sherlock was winning 29 to zero. Why did I ask him to play again? Oh right, because Sherlock Holmes was bored…..again! Thank God the rain had finally stopped, though.

_And….of course…Sherlock wanted me to take the game to the flat_ ("It's not ours." "Doesn't matter, it's in an abandoned apartment meaning it belongs to no one. Wait, you forgot a piece." "Then you take it!").

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**Hope you liked it! R&R! :)**


	4. Lost

"Are we-"

"I swear, Sherlock, if you say 'are we there yet' one more time..." he trailed off, a bit distracted with an irritating tree branch that almost poked him in the eye. He swatted it away angrily only for another to come swinging and scratching his cheek.

'Why does this bloody forest hate me!?' he thought, almost slipping on a patch of mud on the ground. Straightening just in time, he mentally yelled a series of profanities.

"What?" he heard Sherlock ask from behind him. He sounded bored. Well, he wasn't the one fighting with plants. No, he was the famous Sherlock Holmes.

"What do you mean what?" he asked heatedly. Everything was getting on his nerves now. The ground that was covered in mud, the trees that had a permanent grudge on him, the annoying detective beside him, even the beautiful-yet-hidden full moon tonight.

He stopped and turned to Sherlock, or where he suspected the detective was standing; there wasn't much to see in pitch-black darkness.

"It's obvious, John, that i was referring to your half-effective threat you mentioned a minute and 43 seconds ago,"Sherlock said, his baritone voice filling the silent forest. John smirked. He knew how Sherlock hated stating the obvious.

"What threat?" he asked teasingly, although he wasn't certain whether Sherlock would pick up on it.

He heard Sherlock sigh in what he presumed was agitation. Great, he went from annoying-and-bored Sherlock to annoyed-and-boring Sherlock. _Here we go..._

"Don't. You know exactly what threat," Sherlock replied indifferently.

"No, i do-" he stepped back and gasped quietly as he felt himself topple backward, slipping on some mud. Time seemed to pause and he winced, expecting his shoulder to connect with the ground painfully. That is until he realized thin-but-strong hands were gripping his jacket, preventing his fall.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked quietly. He could hear slight concern in those words.

"Yeah, fine," he replied composing himself and brushed away non-existent dirt. A heavy silence passed between them neither saying a word.

Slowly they started walking, pushing past more trees.

"Are you lost?" Sherlock asked after a couple of minutes of silence. He noticed the 'you' instead of the 'we'. As if it was _his _fault.

Well maybe it was...a little.

SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH

_Earlier in 221b Baker St..._

_"Come on, Sherlock, you'll love it," he insisted. The world's only consulting detective was currently upside-down on the couch, his head sticking out and lolling back. He was texting with a concentrated look on his face._

_"Unlikely."_

_John moved to stand in front of him, having to look down (for the first time in his life!) to see Sherlock's face._

_"It's the last time i can go before the estate agents burn the forest down for some factory, Sherlock, this is my only chance." _

_The detective looked up. "Then go, what's stopping you?"_

_John sighed and tried a different tactic._

_"Lestrade phoned me yesterday. He said everyone in Scotland Yard was getting a week off." Sherlock stopped his texting and narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion._

_"Why?" he asked and John chuckled. Sherlock glared and he hastily explained._

_"Not everyone can run on only 3 to 4 hours of sleep; some people need vacations," he grinned at Sherlock. His expression had changed into one of disgust at the mention of the word 'vacation'._

_"Meaning no new cases, meaning an entire week of boredom for you,"he said. Sherlock's eyes widened comically and he knew he had him._

SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH~JW~SH

So Sherlock had agreed on coming. When they reached the forest John was sure he knew the way.

Now, a good 3 hours had passed with them walking through trees, trees, and look _more_ trees!

"No we're not," he answered. They kept walking but stopped after a few more minutes for a break. John panted slightly and glanced at Sherlock, who looked like an Ice King with no visible sweat.

"John, i saw this same tree with these same bear markings and wolf paws a few minutes ago. Clearly we are going in circles, meaning we are lost," Sherlock said in his deduction-voice but all John heard was 'bear' and 'wolf'.

"If you knew these were bear and wolf markings, why the hell didn't you bloody tell me!" he hissed with barely contained rage. Sherlock's face didn't change in the slightest looking not even remotely intimidated.

"Because if i had, you would've panicked like you are now and they would've followed your fear scent right to our location," he replied calmly.

"I'm not panicked, I'm upset! They're two different emotions," he retorted.

"Although one follows soon after the other, don't you agree?" Sherlock said icily.

John huffed and crossed his arms.

"Fine we're lost..." he admitted with a sigh. He eyed a fallen log and walked over before sitting down. It wasn't that comfy but it was better than nothing. Sherlock looked as if to follow but settled on leaning against a tree a few feet away.

"How long has it been since you last visited this place?" Sherlock asked and John was taken aback by the question. It didn't seem like something_ he _would say, but he answered anyways.

"Not too long."

"Years, i presume?"

"Yeah. We'd visit my grandparents, as a true family. I have a lot of fond memories of all of us together here." He looked up wistfully as the moon shone once more. They stayed quiet for a few seconds. He noticed Sherlock shuffling a bit uncomfortably and brought the topic of conversation away from sentiment and emotions.

"So we just go North, back home."

"How? None of us bothered to bring a compass," Sherlock said lamely.

"We'll just use the stars then," he replied looking up.

"How do you suppose we do that?" Sherlock asked a little annoyed. He scoffed at the detective.

"You know...the Big Dipper?" he asked uncertainly. He recieved a raised eyebrow.

"Care to elaborate, John?" the detective asked copying John and looking up with narrowed eyes as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"What, don't tell me you don't know how to find the North Star in the sky constellations?" he asked, baffled. First, that the sun goes around the planet now this?

"Is that a problem?" Sherlock asked, a tad bit defensive and lost. He hated feeling lost, only ordinary people felt lost, not him.

Suddenly, John burst into giggles.

"What is so amusing?" he asked and thanked the darkness. The tips of his ears were burning.

"But that's-that's primary school Sherlock," John said between giggles. Sherlock frowned.

"Then it must've not been important so i deleted it," the detective snapped.

When John's laughter died down he cleared his throat.

"Okay see that pair of stars, yeah that one, one of it's names is the Big Dipper. At the end of the group, you see how it goes in a straight line downwards, well the last star is the North Star. It never moves, meaning if you need to go North you find the North Star and head in that direction."

By the time he finished John felt a little prideful at knowing _he'd_ taught Sherlock something this time around, not the other way around.

"Got that?" he asked him.

"Not at all," Sherlock replied unemotionally.

"What do you mean, i just explained it to you!"

At that Sherlock smiled, one of those rare smiles that was actually sincere.

"I know, and i'll always have my blogger by my side to explain it all over again."

Just as it had appeared, the sincere smile was gone and the stony mask was back. But John knew that warmth was still there, behind the mask, deep in the great Sherlock Holmes.

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**not intended johnlock. hope you enjoyed! :)**


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